Why An Elastic Waist Should Never Come Near the Thanksgiving Table
It’s Thanksgiving, not a yoga class. Photo: Getty Images
These days, everybody is embracing athleisure. A trend that considers activewear everyday-wear, it’s a wonderful idea when you’re bouncing around the city, running errands, or just not feeling up to dressing up—but it has its limits. Despite what fashion might have you believe, leggings and sneakers are not always OK.
A few Thanksgivings ago, I found myself in a sartorial (and lazy) pickle. I’d spent the day in blissful comfort, wearing Adidas track pants and a cardigan, but company was coming, dinner was prepared, and the table was set. All indicators that me, a grown-up (no escaping it) should change. Or at least shower. But when you’re in the comfort of your own home, surrounded by your family, a few close friends, and a very beautiful television, you easily revert to your teenage self. Even for the most sartorially inclined among us, it’s hard to resist the call of loose, cozy cotton, especially around the holidays (which is basically a euphemism for food).
So I asked myself, ‘Should I shower? Shave? Get dressed?” Or should I go for the sloth gold and spend breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the next day’s breakfast in my favorite hoodie? Surely there was a very nice cashmere sweater upstairs in my childhood bedroom, along with a pair of appropriate jeans that would make my ass look fantastic, and a nice pair of shoes, but they were so far away and I was, at that particular moment, very comfortable swathed in fancy blankets.
I was in the throes of what my father calls “The Olympic Lounge,” a phenomenon that occurs only when my brother and I are home together and we take over the living room. There is no force on this Earth—god or man—that can lift us from the crevices of those couches once we settle in. Not even the normal laws of hygiene. So in my sweats, I shuffled to the table to feast with the family.
The out-of-towners looked like humans, humans who’d pulled themselves together in the name of this holiday. They had some semblance of style; they were properly recognizing the occasion that my leisure-wear mocked. Perhaps if everybody had gone the route of sweats, I would’ve felt a little more in place, but there’s no feeling more unsettling than being underdressed. You feel like a failure, alarmingly Costanzian, and the truth is I know better. Any sense of occasion brought by the champagne, the wine, the food, and the company is dulled when you catch your reflection in the dining room windows. You feel like a slob. Though you think you’d be immune to it amongst your closest friends and family, those who take you as you are, you are not. Sure, I could’ve changed, but that would have only drawn more attention to my failure. Thus, I remained the weak link in a chain of fine sweaters, nice shirts, and decidedly waspy outfits.
Looking back at photos from that Thanksgiving I cringe. A ratty-ish t-shirt covered by an okay looking cardigan, messed-up hair, and unkempt stubble doesn’t photograph well, and they’re all a reminder of how I sort of dropped the ball. Thanksgiving is an occasion, regardless of where you are, or how much you think your waistline will expand. Save the track pants for the day after. Or at least till after the guests leave.
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